


The Green Light Job

by LithiumDoll



Category: Leverage
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-24
Updated: 2009-11-24
Packaged: 2017-10-03 16:10:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LithiumDoll/pseuds/LithiumDoll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eliot's going behind bars, Parker wants snacks, Hardison isn't helping, Sophie smells fear and Nate just wants a drink...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Eliot shook his head. "No."

Nate smiled like Eliot had said yes and said, "You haven't even heard the whole plan yet."

"And I'm fine with that." Eliot crossed his arms and then uncrossed them quickly as he realized how defensive that would look and, okay, these people were as good as bad people got, but defensive around Sophie was like walking right up and asking for it.

Too late, she'd smelled fear. Sophie leaned forward, just enough to let him know he had all of her attention. "Eliot, we need someone next to Valdez for his protection and you know you're the only one who can do it."

She smiled with an encouraging, understanding expression. There were shades of regret, respect and just enough self-knowing mockery he couldn't get mad she was trying to play him. Hell, he was even a little pleased she'd go to the effort.

Damn, she was good.

Eliot scowled. "What about _my_ protection, huh?"

Nate made his sell. "Parker can go in as a guard, Sophie can play psychologist again and Hardison and I are on the outside. Anything goes wrong, we're all in place to get you out."

Sure, that sounded reasonable. If you were broken in the _head_. "So spring Valdez instead."

"Valdez is trying to cut a deal, escape really isn't going to look good on his jacket," Sophie pointed out, but a little too gently to hook someone like him. She rolled her eyes to make up for it.

He smiled. "Fine."

"Really?" Nate looked dubious, but hopeful. Eliot stared at the crazy man in disbelief. "_No_._Hell_ no. How much've you been drinking?"

Alec looked up from whatever the hell it was he was poking at with that screwdriver. "He could go in as a guard instead."

Nate shook his head. "We need someone next to Valdez as close to twenty-four seven as we can get. I think the overcrowding would have to get a little more extreme before guards bunked with the cons."

Eliot smirked, despite himself. "Says the guy who's never been inside."

"You've done time?" Alec canted his head, curious. The hacker probably had every little thing ever written down on any of them by now … but some of them had more written than others.

Eliot wasn't feeling in a sharing kind of mood.

"Let me guess, you dated a prison guard?" Sophie's smile widened indulgently as she slipped into the role of affectionate, older sister. The one you wanted to please, just to make her laugh.

He was immune; he wasn't planning on letting her know that, though. Always helped to have a fake heel lying around. "No. Okay, yes, one time. But _no_. I had other places to be so I ... left."

"You _escaped_," translated Nate, with a more speculative expression. "So you shouldn't have any problem doing it again."

"That was a whole other circumstance and there was this _monkey_, which- never mind, it doesn't matter 'cause I'm not doing it."

"I'd like to be a guard," said Parker. "It might be interesting. Maybe they have snacks."

Eliot shot her a glare. "She gets to have fun, but I'm going to be avoiding the attentions of my fifteen cellmates?"

She waved that off. "You're not that pretty."

Hardison looked at him appraisingly for an uncomfortable moment before turning to Nate. "You know, he is kinda pretty. And some of those guys have been in there a while, the hair might confuse them is all I'm saying."

"Not helping," Nate hissed.

Eliot raised a hand and pointed at their glorious leader. "Nate can do it, fit him up for DUI."

"Are you saying I'm not pretty?" Nate held a hand to his heart. The amusement that lulled Eliot into meeting his eyes flipped on a mercury switch and left something cold and inescapably intent. "It's got to be you, or we write Valdez off now. You want to tell his wife and kids?"

Eliot felt his shoulders rising and tried not to hunch. "That's not- I hate you all. All of you." He looked at the door. It was open and there was a pretty good chance he could make it. Parker's hand closed around his arm and he looked over into her cheerful expression. "Especially you."

She reached across to his shoulder and her hand came down in an irregular rhythm. "There, there." Pat. Pat. "There."

Hardison stared. "Okay, disturbing." He shook it off and pulled his laptop closer. "Eliot, you want to be a Sheridan or a Sinclair?"

"I don't _want_ to be – whatever. Sheridan, I guess."

"Good choice, good choice. He's not the one, but he'll last longer." Off their blank looks, Hardison shook his head. "I am wasted on you people. _Wasted_. But that's okay, Nana said we all got our own cross to bear."

"Parker, uniforms. Eliot, go break the law." Nate stood and turned towards the bar. After a step, he swung halfway back around. "Hardison, go with Eliot and trip him up if it looks like he's getting away."

Eliot's scowl deepened and his mood was lifted only a little by Nate's whimper on finding Sophie had already hidden the whiskey.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliot is stalling, Parker likes Popsicles, Hardison really isn't helping, Sophie is disturbingly maternal and Nate's pretty sure someone is stealing his whiskey

_ **Two days ago** _

_At first Sophie had thought Jerome Valdez was exceedingly lucky that his wife had decided to stand by him, all things considered. Now she wondered if the woman just wanted to get her hands on him first._

_Not that she blamed her._

__

Donna Valdez had the pinched look of someone who was all out of tears and confusion, but had discovered angry and liked it; you could do a lot with a person like that, but all Sophie wanted to do right now was coax the rest of the story out of her before the woman convinced herself this was a bad idea.

She smiled. "It's all right, Donna. Go on."

Donna's answering smile was brittle. "So there was more money. But he said he was working overtime and he was never there, so I thought…" Her mouth twisted, "I trusted him."

Sophie nodded sharply, giving vindication to that spark of outrage to keep her talking.

"So it turns out he's been doing these runs and then – I don't know, something happens and the cops are kicking down the door, scaring the hell out the kids and dragging Jerome out. And there's all Marcone's people testifying against him saying it was Jerome's crew and he called the shots."

Sophie nodded more slowly. "They made him the fall guy." Forgetting herself, she gave a nostalgic smile. "Classic."

"Classic?" The wariness returned to Donna's expression.

Sophie quickly adopted a sympathetic, sober tone. "Yes, a classic set up and, obviously, terrible. Awful. How can we help?" Somewhere, she was sure, Nathan Bloody Ford was laughing and he didn't know why.

Donna sighed and lost some of her rigid posture. "Look, I know he's done- he's not innocent, just stupid. But they're trying to put murders on him; Jerome can't even look a raw steak in the eye." Worry began to creep over the anger as she went on, "He's trying to cut a deal, but he doesn't really know anything."

"So he needs something to give the DA's office, and you think we can help him get it."

Donna's eyes tracked to the door and then resolutely back. "Can you?"

_Sophie warmed her smile and reached forward to pat the woman on the hand._

-o-

"Okay, there's your target." Hardison nodded towards an older woman who shuffled unsteadily behind a walker: slow moving, large purse and probably not armed. With anything high caliber. .28, max.

She looked about hundred and he felt a little bad about it, but at this time of night the neighborhood was all out of shoppers and down to the dealers, some tired looking hookers and a few baby gangsters.

It wasn't like Eliot was really stealing her purse, or like he'd hurt her, but Alec couldn't shake the bad taste.

Eliot glanced at the woman and then withdrew back into the alley that they'd claimed as their very own.

Alec followed him. "You see something I didn't? Some kind of … sword walker?" He smiled at the mental image. "That would be pretty cool. You'd be all '_Give me the purse_' and then, stab-stab-stab-stab."

He mimed happily and then caught Eliot's expression. "Or not. Not cool at all."

Eliot shoved the hair back out of his face, Alec thought he recognized the signs and decided to let him rant it out. Instead, the other man's shoulders slumped.

"This is _embarrassing_, is what it is." Eliot looked about as depressed as Alec had ever seen him, and Alec had seen him after The Sewer Job. Man couldn't admit he didn't feel good about it - that was okay, Alec could read between the lines. "Hey, it's no big deal. You been picked up before, right? Hell, _Nate_ got you, what, three times? You should be used to it."

Eliot stared at him. "Never try and make anyone feel better. About anything. Ever again."

Alec considered and then acknowledged, "No, that's fair."

"And, for the record? Nate caught me _once_. For maybe five minutes. And he was lucky. Ask him." He looked back at the suggested target, slowly making her way towards their alley, and started forward.

Alec began to relax and then tensed right back up again as Eliot aborted after a couple of inches and turned back around.

"Besides, you get caught because someone is just _better_, that's okay. You get caught 'cause you're stealing a purse?" Eliot frowned pensively. "And she's really old, what happens if she has a heart attack and dies, huh? I'm going kill someone's gran'ma. You don't live that kind of thing down."

Hardison kept his face straight like his life depended on it. "Right, I get it, all the other retrieval specialists will laugh at you." He nodded to a young woman who had just walked into view on the other side of the street. "Her?"

Eliot shook his head. "Too young, that's even worse. I don't steal candy from babies."

"C'mon, it's her or someone's Nana. You're not stealing anything, I'm gonna catch you before you've gone ten yards. And you know I can. "

Eliot's laugh was low and, frankly, way too amused.

"One of the really important parts of stealing? You have to take something," said Parker.

Hardison started and spun around before his brain took over and he looked up. Parker smiled down from the top of the fire-escape.

Eliot craned his head up, managing to look unimpressed on a whole new level. "There's an_audience_ now? What're you doing here?"

Parker laughed and her head disappeared back behind the cover of the roof.

Eliot made a break for the fire escape; Alec reached out and caught him at the shoulder. "Uh uh, no leaving the crime scene before we even got it started."

He risked another look out of the alley and saw they were out of options now, anyway – grandma had gone on a block and that just left the teenager.

"Okay, go." Hardison gave him a nudge towards the sidewalk.

"I'm going, I'm going." Eliot hesitated in the mouth of the alley.

Hardison gave him a couple seconds worth of dramatic timing allowance and then said, "Your going looks a hella lot like staying."

Eliot gave a low growl as Hardison resorted to pushing him out of the alley. He walked a few steps towards the girl and then slowed and looked back. Alec made shooing motions with his hands. "Go! Retrieve!"

Finally, Eliot jogged the last few feet to his target, reached out and took the purse from unresisting hands. He offered an embarrassed smile and muttered an apology, then turned and ran.

The girl stared after him in mute shock; Hardison rolled his eyes and yelled. "Thief! Look, he stole her purse! That guy there!"

"Not so _loud_," hissed Eliot as he went by, like "Retrievers Monthly" or whatever was watching. Alec let him run past and then bought his cell up and squinted in the viewfinder, making sure to capture the Kodak moment.

Two seconds after that, when Eliot ducked around a cop like he wasn't there, Alec realized he was going to make it a chase and that was just vindictive, was what it was. With a heartfelt, "maaaaan", Alec ran after him.

-o-

Nate was enjoying a moment of quiet contemplation – and, coincidentally, a finger of bourbon – when the door opened under a ball of Hardison, Parker, tissues and blood. Nate stayed where he was, Sophie started to her feet.

"My God, what happened?" She smoothly inserted herself between Parker and Alec; the other women stepped back and wandered towards the kitchen.

Sophie settled Hardison in a chair and gently made him lean forward, then repositioned his fingers deftly until he was pinching his nose in the right place.

Parker returned with a bundle of cloth-wrapped ice and a Popsicle. Sophie took the former and held it at the back of Hardison's neck.

When he could speak – more or less – Alec said, "He b'oke by dose."

Nate blinked. "What happened?" He couldn't honestly say he was sure he wanted to know.

Hardison gestured pointedly at his face. "He _b'oke_ by-"

Sophie shook her head. "It's not broken, sweetheart. Here." She moved the cold press from his neck to his nose; a vivid red immediately began to spread over the cloth.

Hardison grumbled under his breath. "_'eels_ b'oken."

Nate pinched the top of his own nose and reached for his glass; it had mysteriously disappeared. He sighed. "Someone else. Parker?"

Parker carefully removed the Popsicle from her mouth, drew a breath and began a monotone report that was disturbingly similar to a school report. "Eliot stole a purse and Hardison caught him. Then Eliot hit him." As an afterthought – clearly only in the interests of full disclosure - she added, "And someone's grandmother tasered Eliot. It was very funny. The end."

Nate nodded; it was about the only option he had. "That was ... succinct, thank you." He looked to Sophie. "How long until they print him?"

She absently picked up a wastebasket and swept the tissues on the table into it. "They've probably done it already, the outstanding warrants Hardison gave his file will have him inside LAC within a couple of hours."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliot makes a new friend, someone has given Parker a nightstick, Hardison is further traumatized, Sophie is probably plotting something and Nate is all about fashion.

_"She's definitely being followed." Eliot dropped into his seat at the boardroom table about half an hour after Sophie had returned. "It's like that snake eating itself: bad guys following her and Feds following them. Injuns and pirates following them."_

_At the Peter Pan reference his smile became crooked; Nate was briefly thrown by the thought Eliot had actually been a child once and hadn't come onto the Earth a fully formed ball of violence._

_Well that was weird. "Anyone see you?" he asked._

__

Eliot rolled his head enough that he could stare at Nate for a second and then held up his hand to catch the soda can Hardison threw him.

So that would be a no.

"I suppose we've lost that safehouse, then. That's a pity, I quite liked being so close to downtown." Sophie took a sip of her tea.

"What's she like?" Nate asked.

Sophie shrugged. "Nice. Angry. She wants her husband's ba- head on a plate, I think." Sophie went on over Parker's snickering. "But, mostly, she wants evidence against Marcone so Jerome can give it to the DA's office and make a deal. I don't think she realises they'd only make that sort of offer to draw Marcone out."

"Hm. Okay, Hardison." Nate waved a hand and the lights dimmed.

"Paul Marcone, forty-eight, married." Hardison said and pressed a button on his cell.

The display screens came online with photos and articles. They showed a slightly overweight but still handsome man, only just passing his prime. Graying hair at his temples gave him a distinguished air and the Armani did the rest. He was smiling in most of the pictures, which gave Nate the pressing need to take that smile away.

Hardison glanced at Nate's expression and went on. "Depending on who you ask, Mr Marcone is a simple haulage magnate blessed with many friends … or, you know, a low down Mafia trafficker."

Nate scanned the screens. "Trafficker in what?"

"Whatever you need. Drugs. People. Arms. Tax free cigarettes. Rip off DVDs. He'll do it. He's got trucks going international and friends in every port, if you know what I mean."

"Cops on the payroll?" Eliot asked, but it was more of a formality than a question.

Hardison pressed the button again and Nate winced as a series of FBI files appeared over the photos. "Hell, yeah. The Fibbies and the ATF have running investigations but they're getting nowhere, so bets are good some of their own people are making a little extra on the side.

"If they're trying to cut a deal with Valdez and he doesn't know anything worth a damn, they're probably only a month or two from sending in the IRS. Plus, as well and also: Marcone will have been told Valdez is trying to deal. If he's smart, he won't do jack. If he feels a little pushed, he'll find a way to shut Valdez up."

"Easy to do in prison." Nate carefully didn't look at Eliot as he spoke. The beginnings of a plan were already starting to form and it would probably work out best if the man got as little warning as possible. Or none at all - none would be fine.

Sophie leaned forward with a thin smile and an intent expression. "Secrets? Vices? Friends? Enemies? What can we hook him on? What does he want?"

"That's the sixty thousand dollar question." Hardison nodded to the files he'd prepared for them on the table. "It's all in those – like you'll ever read them – but the man's Teflon. His wife basically lives in Florida. My guess, they'd be divorced except they're both Catholic. No other family, on good terms with his 'business' associates and if they actually do sic the IRS on him, they'll still get nowhere. Wherever he's hiding his money, his books are clean.

"He's not building an empire and he goes out of his way to avoid pissing on anyone's turf. Stays off the streets, out of gang business. He's good. Well. Evil. Good evil. Or evil good. Stop me any time."

Nate took pity. "Thank you, Hardison. House and home?"

Parker was the one leaning forward this time, gaze flickering professionally over the house plans. They showed external security, but no internal – Nate supposed the Feds hadn't gotten that far in. It didn't matter; Parker was more than able to fill in the gaps.

"They'll have cameras here and here. And here." Her red pointer danced quickly over the screens, Hardison's fingers tapped as he left markers in her wake. "He has motion detectors on all the windows, even the ones the cameras cover a hundred percent. He'll have them inside too."

Nate nodded slowly. "Anything you can't deal with?"

She shook her head. "No, but it'll be faster if we can get the motion detectors turned off."

Eliot looked from Parker to Nate. "He'd only do that when he's there though, right?"

Nate settled back in his chair. "So we'll just have to be there with him. Hardison, what about the Valdez family?"

The display cleared of the Marcone Intel and now the Valdez family portrait appeared. Jerome Valdez looked young, fresh-faced and hopelessly naive. From the quiet groans around him, Nate guessed he wasn't the only one who thought so.

Donna Valdez's gaze was sharper than her husband's but tempered by a gentle humor – Nate suspected she needed it. The coat she was wearing was a mass of brightly colored thread and her hair was streaked in pinks and blues. Jerome was a contrast in a button down blue shirt and ironed jeans.

Appearances counted for nothing.

"She was wearing that when I met her," Sophie murmured.

Appearances counted for nothing unless you were Sophie.

There were two boys, around five or six and eight or nine. They had their father's bright smile and their mother's sharp eyes.

None of them deserved this.

Hardison flicked through his prepared file, probably to show the rest of them it was possible. "Jerome and Donna Valdez, both thirty-two. Kids are Michael and Junior, five and nine. Donna is waiting tables and training to be a nurse, Jerome is – was – a trucker for the legit side of Marcone's business but …"

Hardison trailed away and looked warily at Nate. Nate frowned. "But?"

Long fingers tapped at the file. "Don't get weird about this."

Nate's frown deepened. "About what?"

Hardison coughed and went on. "'Bout, a year or so ago Junior gets diagnosed with a heart defect and gets a cardiac shunt. He's outpatient now, he's okay, but then the bills come in.

"Jerome starts working two haul jobs, 'cause they got those hour limits. Couple months later he goes off the road and tests positive for Benzedrine. One company fires him … Marcone starts giving him overtime off the map."

Sophie glanced at Nate. He had thought his expression was clear but she sighed and looked to the others. "We're taking the job."

_Nate stared contemplatively at the cell phone on the table in front of him._

-o-

So the taser had been a little unexpected, and it had brought back some unpleasant mental snap shots of the Ukraine. And Burma. And that time in Belfast. It wasn't like he was starting to get a _thing_ about it but didn't anyone use pepper spray anymore? It was effective, it was efficient, and nobody's nervous system got dissolved. Except maybe with that Wildfire crap, but Wildfire felt like it was melting your face and was probably half way to weapons-grade.

They'd Mirandized him while he'd been a little out of it, still twitchy and concentrating more on not snapping anyone's neck than listening to his rights. He was pretty sure he'd caught the highlights - the part about remaining silent sounded good. They'd asked him if he'd understood, he'd nodded and tried to look pathetic. He was being arrested for stealing a_purse_, pathetic wasn't hard.

He'd still been in the back of the parked up cruiser when the daze wore off and if he had been planning to make a break for it, it would have been then.

But he'd told himself to stick to the plan.

If you could call it a plan, which he really wasn't sold on. With this many moving parts, it felt less like strategy and more like what his first employer had called 'a pious hope'. Eliot had never been the optimistic kind and he'd sure as hell never been accused of piety.

So it was a little strange that he was now in a holding cell, waiting for Hardison's fake jacket to get picked up. At least it was quiet - he had the cell to himself, except for a couple of drunks sleeping it off in a cloud of evaporating alcohol fumes.

He sat on the edge of the long bench at the back and looked down at his hands. The fingertips were smeared with ink; he spat and then tried to work the stuff off his skin. The black finally came away, but that left him trying to figure out where the blood under his nails had come from.

Hardison had caught up to him just before grandma turned mean; Eliot remembered a hand on his arm and a glare. It got hazy around then, but the old lady had been fine, yelling at some cops as Eliot had been handcuffed and pushed into the car, so he guessed Hardison was someplace wishing he'd ducked faster.

And he really felt bad about that.

Still, all things told it could be worse. Could still get worse. Eliot couldn't shake the shiver that crawled its way up and down his spine. It was probably searching for his brain; he wished it luck.

What if the fingerprint information didn't connect with his cover? What if, right now, the Feds and all their good friends were closing in, ready to ask some searching questions?

What if the team had changed their minds and just left him there, huh? What then?

Eliot grimaced. He was screwed, was what then. And he still couldn't figure out how he'd let himself get talked into it. Valdez's story was sad and all, but Eliot wouldn't have pictured himself getting arrested for anyone or anything. He darkly suspected he was having trust issues: he was trusting people who weren't him, and that was a hell of an issue.

At the end of the hall the big metal doors clanged open and he heard the measured steps of hard-soled shoes. Had to be a couple of cops and, given the watered-down sunlight coming through the small, grimy window above him, he guessed they were probably looking to put him on the chain to LAC.

They drew up outside the cell; the taller one with bad skin leaned comfortably against the bars and grinned widely. "Good news, Mister Sheridan: you're outta here."

Eliot managed not to roll his eyes and instead put on a more hopeful expression, just like the guard wanted him to. "Yeah? Said you had the wrong-"

"You're outta here and over to LAC." The guards laughed like they didn't do this to every one they had banged up in here.

Now Eliot did roll his eyes. "Whatever."

The amusement died and the shorter one gestured to the hole in the door. "Hands."

He complied with a little hesitation - not entirely for show - and tried to ignore the feel of the metal snapping over his wrists. Idly, he counted how many ways he could have taken the guards out as they cuffed him and then, just for kicks, worked out a couple of exit routes from the station.

It wasn't much but it kept him amused until the bus, when he was sat next to a bear and wedged so tight against the window he could taste glass.

By the time they rolled to a stop inside the LAC compound he was about ready to call it and go over the fence. All the ways it could go wrong stacked up high against the probability the crew would just leave him in there if they had to cut and run and-

He saw a flash of blonde hair in the group of guards ready to welcome them all into the loving arms of the LA penal system.

Some of his unease lifted as he left the bus and Parker came clear into view. She stood lurking at the side, apparently looking at nothing in particular along the perimeter fence. Eliot kind of doubted that.

Her hair was pulled back in a severe bun at the back of her neck and she seemed awkward and uncomfortable in her stolen uniform. And, honestly, the way she was carrying her nightstick was a little worrying when he coupled it with the glint in her eye.

But she was there and for that she was beautiful. Eliot relaxed and let himself be kicked and shunted into the line. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Parker as she tilted her head. Right, she got to keep _her_ comms.

They were processed through: property in, stupid-ass orange pants, stupid-ass slipper things and stupid-ass white T-shirt out. What little good humor he'd managed to get back disappeared entirely by the time they hit the showers.

He couldn't remember if he'd had a problem with public showering in school; if he had it was gone now. Thank you, Borneo. He saw one reedy looking guy trying not to look at him; his eyes darted everywhere but and then slowly dragged back. He seemed more scared than anything, which Eliot didn't follow – there were larger, scarier looking men in the room than him. He was getting a little concerned until the answer presented itself as he rinsed off his arms. Oh right. The scars.

Eliot shrugged philosophically and went to get changed; the pants were way too big. And the tee itched. And they'd taken his beanie. Someone was going to hurt for this.

He sucked it up and fell back into line as they were walked from the showers through the block. They passed rows and rows of crowded looking cells whose occupants stared out with a range of expressions. Eliot couldn't say he liked any of them.

A few minutes later, he found himself unceremoniously shoved into a cell with a man he recognized as Valdez. Sitting in the corner was a _cholo_ built on a scale just about half again Eliot's size. The ink on his neck made him out of the West Side 18th.

Eliot ignored him and tried a friendly smile for the first man. "You Jerome Valdez?" From the way Valdez took a step back, Eliot guessed he'd not pitched warm confidence so much as psychopath. He tried a wider smile. Valdez took another step back. Eliot gave up with a scowl. "I'm here to watch your back, okay?"

"_You_ going to watch _his_ back?" laughed the ganger.

Eliot abruptly found he was all out of friendly and looked at the _cholo_ silently.

The man shook his head and smirked as he stood. "Nah, little man. You can't even watch your own."

As Valdez attention darted nervously between them, Eliot discovered he had one more smile left in him.

-o-

Nate cleared his throat quietly and said, "Parker?"

"Eliot's here. He looks unhappy." Her reply was quiet and a little muffled, she had company.

Nate relaxed. Eliot hadn't bolted and the plan was still on. "Okay."

"Well unhappy isn't entirely surprising, Parker. Bright orange probably isn't his color." Sophie leaned over Nate's shoulder, and spread some papers over the table in front of him. He let her play for a couple of seconds and then reached out and took hold of the glass she had been covertly lifting with her other hand.

He raised his eyebrows innocently and met her stare for unblinking stare until she let go and withdrew with cool dignity, all of her ruffled feathers on the inside.

Obliviously, Parker went on. "I should bring him cigarettes to trade. And a shank. Oh! And some tiny little paper cranes, which serve no purpose."

Nate shook his head. "Let's try and hold off on going native for a couple days, okay?"

Hardison snorted. "Couple days is all we got, so maybe we want to keep the whole cranes thing as a back up. "

Hardison's nose was swollen and a dark bruise was creeping under his right eye, but he seemed over his plan to subscribe Eliot to every magazine with an elderly demographic he could find. Nate hoped. The terrifying mental images that had resulted from a muttered 'Barely 81' were lingering.

He tried to put that out of his mind and asked, "How are we for time?"

"Forty-one hours until the LA Central records synchronize with the national database and right there it's out of my hands. We need Sheridan out of the system before then or Eliot's prints are raising flags all over the damn place."

Nate twisted in his chair to look at Sophie. "The counselor position?"

"Doctor Falkirk won an all-expenses paid trip to Sweden. I'll go in as his replacement this afternoon," she replied. If she was angry with him, it didn't show. But then, it wouldn't.

Hardison laughed. "Sweden?"

Sophie's expression softened with nostalgia. "I have a friend there. It's a lovely country. Beautiful galleries. "

Nate drained the rest of his whiskey and stood, steady as a rock. "I remember. Hardison, we're going to have a look at the Marcone residence."

Hardison rose dubiously to his feet. "It'll be tricked out like MTV Cribs: Mafia Edition and I'm guessing they won't be planning a wedding."

Nate smiled.

-o-

"He fell." That was broadly true – the gangbanger had fallen. Kind of a lot.

The guards looked at each other and then at Valdez, who had the presence of mind to nod rapidly. "He slipped, on the water." He pointed to a completely 'pool of water'-free area of floor.

The _cholo_ raised his head with the unfocused look of a man seeing two of everything. "I fell. Water."

The guards shared another look and then the taller pointed his nightstick meaningfully towards Eliot. "It doesn't happen again."

"Nossir," Eliot agreed with complete sincerity.

When they were gone Eliot watched warily as the man on the floor climbed unsteadily to his feet. "We done?"

The man propped himself against the bunk with a rueful expression. "You're him."

"Him?" Eliot's wary increased about a hundred percent, both other men backed up a pace – about as far as they could go.

His target held his hands up a little. "You told Julio about that priest got beat up."

That was one, face saving, way of putting it. Eliot didn't see any point in pushing the finer details. "So?"

"So we're done." He dropped his hands and nodded. "Flaco."

Eliot looked at the bulk of the man and guessed he'd gotten the name young or his crew had a sense of humor. "Sheridan," he answered at last.

"Jerome." They both looked to the man, who gave an abashed little wave.

Eliot smirked. "Isn't that nice, we're all friends."

-o-

Hardison spent a productive couple of hours creating a production company, five years of accounts, a web site and minor celebrity. _Entertainment Tonight_ would be calling to arrange an interview any time now, he was that good.

He'd worked hard, was the point. He was a team player doing a fine, fine job and he really didn't deserve Nate's scarf.

He stared at it as it moved hypnotically across his vision. "What the hell is that?"

Nate picked up the trailing end and looked at it like he'd just noticed he was wearing Big Bird around his neck. "You don't like it?"

Hardison raised horrified eyes. "It's like someone shot and skinned my childhood, man. That's not cool."

The scarf swung again. "I think it has something."

Hardison nodded his agreement. "Right: trauma. My soul is actually dying a little. Inside."

Nate gave the scarf one more flip and said, "Get the camera and let's go."

-o-

The first try came during yard time.

Eliot had put Valdez between himself and the wall so he had all kinds of leisure time to watch the hitter making his way towards them.

The man moved furtively, eyes darting around every few seconds but otherwise fixed on his target. And he was actually hiding a shiv up his sleeve; Eliot could see the handle in the curved palm of the man's hand. Amateur.

He looked up to the wall and caught Parker's eye, then nodded once at Furtive Boy. She nodded back and her lips moved as she reported in.

The man walked past and Eliot stood, stretched and walked after him. He pitched his stride just a little too long and stamped down hard on the back of his target's calf. The wannabe yelled and dropped like his leg had been cut out from under him. Which was fair - as far as his nerves were concerned, it had.

Eliot attempted a look of innocent contrition and extended a hand. "Hey - sorry, man. You okay? Let me give you a hand up there…"

An arm came up, either for help or to ward him off, didn't really matter. Eliot took it, pulled and twisted _just so_. He tried not to grin as the elbow dislocated with a wrench and the man's scream pitched louder.

The man went fetal, Eliot looked down at him dispassionately. "I guess it's just not your day, huh?"

Parker ambled up, two other guards behind her. "What is going on?" Her head tilted. "Here. What is going on here?"

Eliot wondered who was feeding her lines and hoped like hell it wasn't Hardison or the next words out of her mouth were likely to be 'What we have here is a failure to communicate.'

He shook off the sudden concern and adopted a confused, slightly scared expression. "He tripped, I was just helping him up and I guess he ... tripped again."

One of the other guards looked around at the wider audience. "That what happened?"

The cons that had been watching shrugged; they didn't much care now that the entertainment was done. Valdez's would-be assassin could only whimper, Valdez himself spoke with all that fresh-faced honesty of his. "That's what happened."

Parker took a beat too long before she poked a finger at Eliot's chest and said, "You have an appointment with the counselor in ten minutes. You're wrong. In the head."

Eliot completely agreed. "Yeah, right."

When they'd gone, Eliot looked around and caught Flaco's eye. It wasn't difficult; most of the yard seemed to be looking his way now. Flaco muttered a few words to his crew and then wandered over, hands jammed deep in his pockets and expression wary. "'sup?"

"Got some business. Need him babysat for a while," Eliot said and nodded to Valdez.

Flaco squinted at Valdez thoughtfully while he replied. "What's in it for me?"

"Smokes? Dope? Whatever you want, I can get it in here."

Flaco's hand rose to rub at the back of his neck and he shook his head. "Got my own lines, man."

The wariness left Flaco's expression and found a new home in Eliot's. "What do you want?"

The _cholo_ shook his head and shrugged like it was nothing. "A favor. Somethin' small, just some time I'll call it in."

That sounded like the worst plan ever, and Eliot had been in on some of Parker's, but he didn't have time to bargain. "Deal."

-o-

Hardison tweaked the settings on the video camera, taking range shots and – coincidentally – finding the gaps in security coverage at the front of the house. He doubted they'd ever need to know, but he was all about diligent. Plus, this way he got to record Nate's performance.

The man would never be called subtle and Hardison doubted he'd be able to pull off the kind of long cons that Sophie took, but he was fun to watch. He'd be even more fun to watch on a big screen with popcorn and beer.

For the last few minutes, Nate had been walking up and down in front of Marcone's residence, cell phone in hand. He was alternating between shouting into it, presumably at the talking clock, and berating Hardison who was doing his best to look bored and hot.

The second part was easy.

It took ten minutes before a couple of men in impeccable suits came to the gate. The younger man's expression was amused; the older man's was impassive. The elder waited until Nate began a new circle and then stepped into his path.

"Can I help you?" he asked. Hardison was silently impressed at the man's ability to be polite even after getting a faceful of Big Bird.

Nate stared at the suit for a second and then flapped his hand irritably. "I really doubt it, go away."

Hardison watched the anger flicker over the man's face and was readying himself to play LA Assistant and smooth some feathers – figuratively speaking and all - when Nate flicked his cell closed and turned.

"I apologize, that was rude," he said contritely.

Nate was learning; that was Sophie 101 – putting the mark in a position of charity that cost them nothing.

The man nodded his acceptance and even offered smile. "Sure. What's the problem?"

Nate laughed bitterly. "Apparently someone in records is about five years out of date. We'll clear out of your way."

That was a gamble, Hardison prepared himself again, but Nate had called it – the younger one's curiosity won out and he canted his head back. "Five years out of date for what?"

Nate gestured to Marcone's house. "This place isn't owned by the Sinatra estate anymore, right?"

Amusement sparked in the older man's eyes. "Frank was out in Beverly Hills, he never lived here."

Nate grinned wickedly, like a man imparting a secret. "You're right, but he owned it. During the forties, when the FBI started watching him, you know what I'm talking about, right? They started watching him because of that whole thing with Lucky Luciano? Anyway, he wanted a place they weren't watching – this was it."

"Mr. Marcone, he bought the property about five years ago."

"I know, right? And there's my problem. The previous owner had registered as shooting location so we were good to come around and scout it out, but now it turns out the guy's been dead five years."

"Look, you know what? I'll talk to Mr Marcone for you." The younger one frowned a little; the elder shook his head to appease him. "He was a fan, he'd like to know more, maybe he'll be okay with you looking around the place."

Nate shook his head. "We couldn't impose, maybe I'll get my assistant to ring back and arrange a time or something?"

The man waved him off, already turning towards the gate. "No big thing, let me just call up to the house."

"Okay, I'll go talk to my assistant." Nate looked suitably grateful and slightly embarrassed until he'd turned fully around. His expression cleared to something morbidly sardonic.

"Imagine that," he said dryly when he got close enough. "A wise guy who likes Sinatra."

"Hey! Mister…?" the younger man called.

Nate half-turned and called back to him. "Wood. Theodore Wood."

"Wood – right. Mister Marcone says come on up to the house."

Nate raised a hand in thanks and grinned down at the ground. Hardison picked up their gear. "Smooth, but don't think I'm forgetting a Muppet died for this."

Marcone's house was set back up a long drive and Hardison could pick out the security features as they walked. It was much the same set up as Masconi's place, but knowing that didn't make it any more penetrable. If they couldn't talk their way back, they weren't getting in quiet.

Nate was taking all the attention, running a spiel on the way up to keep their audience interested while Hardison worked. He could see at least a couple of places Parker could make it into the house, as long as they could get her into the grounds. Hidden in a van, that shouldn't be hard.

And if they came back with an invite, they'd have Sophie and no man on God's green Earth would be watching anything or anyone else while she was running her game.

Paul Marcone met them at the front door, all smiles and handshakes like the charity-giving, honest businessman he was.

Nate carefully spun the story of a series that might never even air, but of course there would be complementary copies for all those who participated. And the presenter, Sarah Jane – oh, you've heard of her? Hardison grinned – would be happy to have dinner with him afterwards.

Every job should be this easy.

As soon as the thought crossed his mind, Hardison desperately tried to take it back. Okay, he wouldn't panic. There should be salt to throw or something. Failing that… rewind. Rewind!

"Mr Wood?" The elder man, who had finally introduced himself as Sal, tapped Nate's arm.

He paused mid-description of Sarah Jane's many talents. "Yes?"

Sal nodded behind them. "Why is your cameraman turning in circles?"

Nate spun, stared and then turned back with a vague smile. "Cameramen, you know?" He brightened his smile. "Hey, please, call me Ted."

Marcone dropped a hand on Nate's shoulder and started them walking again. "Can I offer you a drink, Ted?"

"Well, thank you Mr Marcone," said Nate, with a very real appreciation. "That's kindness itself."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliot is a good boy really - he just fell in with the wrong people, Parker probably shouldn't have prepped by watching Cell Block H, Hardison is a god amongst mortals, Sophie looks good in those boots and Nate really needs to warn people before he does that kind of thing

Sophie sat behind the desk in the counselor's office and examined herself in the reflection of the varnish. She smoothed her brow line and removed a small dot of mascara from her eyelid, then looked up as the door opened.

Eliot shuffled in with Parker just behind him. The door closed and both relaxed minutely.

Eliot glanced around, saw the camera nestled up in the corner and sent a questioning look to Sophie. She smiled and changed her body language to be welcoming but reserved while saying, "video only. Parker can take it when we're doing clean up."

Parker nodded stayed back by the door, out of the camera's range, while Eliot dropped into the plastic chair and took on a slightly surly expression.

Sophie picked up her pen and began to make random marks on the notepad in front of her. "What happened in the yard?"

"Marcone's put the green light out on Valdez. Got a guy watching him but…"

Sophie nodded, it was unfortunate but it wasn't unexpected. "Do you trust him?"

Eliot looked around pointedly and didn't have to fake surly. "_No_."

"Then we'll make this quick. We're getting inside Marcone's place this evening."

Eliot kicked out at the waste bin by her desk, the very image of borderline aggressive, but his voice stayed level. "How?"

Sophie smiled sweetly "What does every criminal really want and never get enough of?"

"Money."

"Apart from money, Parker." Sophie replied without even flickering an eyelash in her direction.

Eliot thought about it from his perspective for less than a second before switching to Sophie's. He smiled back. "Recognition."

"Because when _we_ do something, it's so hard to find someone to appreciate it. If you can't get them by the wallet, get them by the ego. Charitable donations are traditional, but we didn't really have the time to set up a fake charity. So we gave him Frank Sinatra's old house."

Eliot blinked, but decided against asking questions. Sophie went on. "The problem is, Nate, Hardison and I will be the diversion and Parker will be inside getting what she can, but that means …"

"I'm on my own. That's how I work best." Eliot was pretty sure that used to sound more convincing and Sophie didn't look like she'd bought it either. He half shrugged. "Hey, at least you'll know where I am."

"Here." She leaned forward to give him a pat on his hand for the camera and, more importantly, his earbud. "You'll be able to follow what's happening. If it falls apart, Hardison has programmed that print transfer thing to corrupt itself before synchronization. He thinks that will buy us a few more hours - we'll walk away from the con and break you and Jerome out. I promise."

She was watching him with some concern, Eliot wondered if it was real or playing to their audience again.

And, he realized, he wasn't sure which he'd prefer. He slipped the bud back into his ear, covering before she analyzed whatever that had revelation had thrown into his expression. It didn't work; her frown deepened and her mouth started to form around a question.

Eliot stood quickly. "See you around."

"Eliot, wait-"

He gave a mock salute and turned to the door. Parker stepped aside to let him through and they walked back towards the cellblock he was calling home.

In an empty stretch of corridor, Parker whispered. "I've never been caught."

He turned his head enough to see her expression; it didn't look like she was digging at him, but the girl had deadpan down. "So?"

She rolled her eyes. "So. I won't get caught tonight either. And I've been looking around - this place is wide open. I'm surprised there's anyone left in here. I'll break you out on my own if I have to, it'll be fun."

And the thing about Parker was, she was a great thief, but she was all kinds of crappy at outright lies. He felt weirdly better. And then felt weird about feeling weirdly better.

He managed, "Thanks."

"Move it, inmate!" She grinned and shoved him through the gate and back out into the yard.

He made his way back to Valdez, who seemed in one piece. Flaco gave a nod and walked back to his own side.

"What's happening?" Valdez looked nervous.

Eliot took a seat next to him on the bench. "Marcone will know the hit failed. He'll wonder whose looking out for you and what you're telling them."

Jerome's hands twisted around themselves until he made a visible effort to calm down. He took a deep breath and said, "I was thinking, this is dangerous, right?"

Eliot stared at him.

The man's color rose. "I mean for you. It's dangerous for you. I could just get myself thrown in solitary. No one could get me there."

A play by play of exactly how someone could kill him while he was in solitary probably wouldn't be a comfort so Eliot just said, "That's Plan B, okay?"

Valdez said something else but Eliot wasn't listening, he'd seen a few familiar faces at the far end of the yard. "Crap. Hardison?"

Hardison's slightly thickened sounding voice came through. "I'm not talking to you."

"Not the time." Eliot stood as a crowd moved between him and the objects of his worry, then took Valdez's arm and walked them both to the far end of yard where the bleachers gave some cover. "We got a problem."

The injured tone left Hardison's voice. "What?"

"Look through the recent transfers." Maybe he was wrong. It had to happen once.

"Ah, man." He wasn't wrong.

Nate's voice came through. "What?"

"We got some old friends in there with Eliot – some of Masconi's men."

Parker whispered, "Marcone. Masconi. This could get confusing. Can we switch one of them to Corleone? Or-."

Nate cut her off. "I think we'll manage. Will they recognize you, Eliot?"

"Maybe not, I spent most of my time in the kitchen. But even if they don't right now, I'm guessing they will if they make a try for Valdez."

"They probably will - Marcone and Masconi have family connections," came Sophie's voice. "It's possible he's taken Masconi's men under his wing while their boss is out of the game. Had them transferred in as a back up."

"How many are there?" asked Nate. What he meant, Eliot knew, was "Are there too many?"

"I can handle them if they come for Valdez, but if they figure out I'm not who my jacket says I am, I'm screwed."

"What about the person you had covering him while you were meeting me? Will he be able to run interference?"

Eliot shook his head, even if they couldn't see it. "I already owe him a favor, and that's pretty much owing a favor to the West Side 18th - I'm not in a real big hurry to owe them another one."

There was silence on the line until Nate said, "Then we need to get you all locked down until this is over. Parker?"

"Here," Parker replied at a normal volume.

"I need you to steal something."

"Steal something? In a prison?" More silence and then, "I like it. What?"

"Anything, make it the coffee maker if you want. It just has to disappear, they'll put the place in lock down while they search for it."

"A coffee maker?" She sounded aggrieved.

Eliot grinned. "Hah! Now you know how I felt."

"Fine," she said at last and Eliot could actually _hear_ her scowling. "But don't tell anyone."

-o-

Parker stole a small statue from within the Warden's office. It was some kind of little man with a stick and it was ugly, so she reasoned he'd miss it. No one would have something that ugly lying around and not notice it was gone.

With that decided, she took some time to wander around the office. It was nothing like any of the Wardens offices she'd seen in the shows she'd watched with Hardison when Sophie suggested she studied the part she was playing. There weren't any bottles of whiskey in the drawers or secret diaries.

Actually, the whole prison had been a big disappointment. She'd sat through hours and hours, maybe four hours, of Prison Break and Oz and Cell Block H; they'd all made it look way more fun than it was.

When she thought about it, most of the fun had been in laughing at the ridiculously obvious weaknesses in security because, hello, cardboard walls? And Hardison, laughing with her, instead of near her or at her - laughing at the same thing. It was … different and warm and nice.

They needed to finish the job now.

She jumped up onto the desk and from there pulled herself up and into the ceiling.

-o-

Sophie had a thick cockney accent and some truly staggering heels. She looked like punk rock met Euro trash and somehow, somehow, she was as captivating in her part as ever.

Nate had thought she would go for a look more likely to appeal to a guy like Marcone, something classic. She'd said something about never wearing white like the other girls and she'd been right; Marcone's eyes barely left her.

Which had raised something that felt uncomfortably like jealously in Nate's chest, although he didn't know how it made it though the numbing fog of the whiskey he'd drunk while they had waited for Parker to finish her shift and come ho- back. Come back.

It wasn't like he was trying to fool himself - Nate loved her. He really did. He was more than old enough to know the signs and resign himself. But it was an intellectualized thing, taken out and admired just the way he admired good scotch or a well conceived chess move.

Jealousy didn't belong there.

Sometime he wished he knew which her he loved, and exactly how much she was playing him. He didn't lie to himself that she wasn't but, Christ; the definition of love was playing someone, wasn't it? Maybe not for everyone, but he was pretty sure it was for them.

He and Hardison trailed after their star, nodding in all the right places and watching her work while Hardison recorded everything. There was one room and one room only Marcone wouldn't let them into, he begged Sarah Jane's pardon and claimed remodeling. Everywhere else was fair game.

Nate hung back and let the others go on before murmuring. "Parker, you get that?"

"Which side?" Her voice was muffled again, this time by the wind. He guessed she was on the roof.

"East, third window in. Where are you?"

"Here," came her voice, loud and clear.

He spun around and saw only some decoratively positioned potted plants. He was considering investigating the largest when he heard her giggle in his earpiece. "Don't be silly."

He didn't dignify that with a response and hurried on after Sophie. After a few minutes, Parker whispered, "I'm in. Lots of computers. No files."

Ahead, Hardison's voice rose up. "Uh, you know, this is fascinating and all, but is there a little cameraman's room…?"

Marcone nodded to Sal, who drew along side Hardison. "This way."

Hardison handed the camera to Nate as he passed. "It's rolling, try and keep it level and I'll be right back. Drop it and – you know, what? Just don't drop it."

Nate hefted the camera onto his shoulder and followed after Sophie and her new best mark.

After a minute, he heard Hardison's voice came in low over the ear bud. "Okay, Parker? Tell me what you're looking at."

"Three Dell boxes, no monitors."

"Huh, okay. Hold your cell next to them. Okay. Okay good, we got wireless. We also got some firewalls like you never heard of and encryption off the scale. This is, like, _military_."

"You can't do it?" Nate murmured, almost sub vocally.

Hardison laughed his 'god amongst mortals' laugh. "I didn't say I couldn't do it, I'm just telling you how good I am and how much you should appreciate me."

Nate resisted the urge to ask Marcone for a drink, but given they were about to ruin his life it seemed a little tacky.

They reached the end of the tour and Sophie turned, taking herself a calculated fraction into Marcone's personal space." I have to say, love, this is the most fun I've had doing one of these."

"I'm sure you say that to everyone," Marcone replied smoothly and moved a touch closer.

Sarah Jane's smile widened and her eyelashes lowered just a little, behind them her eyes sparkled playfully. "Of course. So will Mrs Marcone be joining us for dinner?"

"Mrs Marcone is in Florida, visiting her sister."

"That's a shame," said Sarah Jane, without any visible regret whatsoever. She looked around more theatrically. "And the children?"

Marcone played along. "Sadly, we have no children."

"Oh well, I'm sure we can think of something to do … with just the two of us."

Marcone smiled and leaned closer, entirely caught in the full effect of Sophie's attentions. Nate discovered he was too; Hardison's muttered confirmation of transfer didn't register until the hacker repeated himself.

"I _said_, 'we're done here'."

Sarah Jane turned and looked Nate dismissively up and down. "You can go, I don't think we'll need cameras for the next part of the interview."

Nate hesitated as Sophie went off script. Sure, the house was nice enough and he'd cast a professional eye over the art – expensive, but not in her league. She was looking at him unblinkingly, willing the right response into his head.

He thought he knew which way she wanted him to go. He hoped he did. "Fine, but we're meant to be meeting Parker and you know what she'll be like if you're late again."

Sarah Jane waved him off and then let her eyes travel around again. This time he followed her gaze where it led him and understood why she'd asked about Marcone's wife and children. Through the open door to the dining room, he could see a coat made of brightly colored threads draped roughly over the back of a chair.

Donna Valdez's coat.

Ah hell.

He looked vaguely around and then turned to wander back in the direction Hardison had taken. "Parker. Do not forget!"

-o-

Nate swung himself into the passenger side of the van and started talking as Hardison climbed in the other side. "Parker, stay in the house. We're looking for Donna and the kids."

Hardison groaned and let his head fall back onto his seat. "He must've grabbed them when Eliot stopped the hit. All our plans go south. Have you noticed that? I think we need new plans. Better ones. Ones that don't involve the mob."

"We don't choose the clients, Hardison." Nate scrabbled on the dash and pulled his shades out of the assorted candy wrappers. The world turned a soothing shade of gray as he slipped them on.

"Yeah, we do. Or you do," Hardison said.

Nate couldn't really argue with that. "Okay, I do and I chose her. What did you get off their servers?"

"The good news keeps coming: it's all flash. I bet they know the FBI and all are watching, they're just giving them something to keep them busy." He held up a hand before Nate could speak and then went on, "And I already pulled their phone records – if Marcone's keeping them someplace else, no one's talking about it."

A headache was starting to build behind Nate's eyes; he rubbed ineffectually at his temples. "Eliot, I'm guessing you're not in a position to talk or I know you would be by now. Tap once for yes, twice for no."

The answering tap was louder than it needed to be, apparently Eliot was unhappy.

"Have there been any other tries?"

Tap-tap.

"You're still in lock down?"

Tap-tap.

"Valdez hasn't been contacted about his wife and kids?"

_TAP-TAP_.

Nate guessed the lock down did pretty much answer that one. He moved on. "Parker, where did you hide whatever you took?"

"It's in the flour barrel, in the kitchen," she answered promptly.

"Okay." Nate put the pieces out in his mind and reassembled them into new shapes. Something surfaced in his mind, it waved for his attention but it was too far off to see clearly. He let the wheels spin down until there was open space and the thought swam right up.

He looked right. "Hardison?"

Hardison looked at him cautiously. "Yes, Nate?"

"He has to be storing his data _somewhere_, right? What are his options?"

Hardison shrugged. "There's still a chance it's in the building but, me, I think he's using someplace offsite."

"So how's he connecting? Can you intercept a signal or … whatever it is you do?"

Hardison gave him a measured look and then opened his cell. "One day, I'm sitting all y'all down and introducing you to your friend: the computer."

Parker whispered, "I know computers."

"You asked me if I could hack a lock."

Nate leaned closer to peer at the screen of the cell, as if he'd understand anything on it. "Can you do it?"

"I can follow his route, but it will take time. And I mean time. More time than we have."

"Doesn't matter, we don't need to find where he's keeping it, we just have to make him_think_ we have. Can you block him from reaching the data? Or – or make him think he's reached it, but show something else instead?"

Hardison looked more confident. "Yeah, that won't take as long. But it will only kick in if he actually does check – we got no guarantees he'll do that."

"He'll do it and when he does, I want you to give him a heart attack if you can."

Hardison's smile curled up vindictively. He went to work.

Nate turned his attention back to Eliot. "Okay, Eliot? Tell Valdez to confess to taking the statue. That should get him into solitary."

Tap-tap.

"I know, I know – but we need to get him out of reach so they can't tell him about his wife, they do that and it's game over."

TAP-TAP.

Nate closed his eyes. "Eliot, please. I know we didn't plan for Masconi's men, but unless you're sure they can get to him in there … just trust me a little bit longer."

Tap-.

The second tap didn't come and Nate exhaled.

"Hey, Valdez. Wake up." Nate listened to Eliot's side of the conversion with half an ear, but turned most of his attention back to Hardison. "Done it?"

"Well, I've-"

Sophie coughed twice and Nate held up a hand. "Yes or no?"

Hardison's lips tightened and he pressed send. "Yes."

"Parker, have you found them?"

"They're not in the house but there's a few buildings on the grounds. I need Hardison to talk me through the cameras, but I can search them."

Nate wished he'd bought some Excedrin. "Sophie, we've done everything we can in there. Make your dramatic exit and get out."

"That would be a pity, we were having such a nice time." Marcone's voice was smooth and amused.

Nate spoke fast. "Parker, go silent, get out. Eliot, stick with Plan B."

"Mr Spencer has other things to worry about. My men are approaching your vehicle, I suggest you give them no reason to become agitated."

The door opened and Nate didn't resist the hand that hauled him out and removed the ear bud. Hardison did and was tugged harder for his trouble but Nate saw the effects of his reasoning immediately as Hardison managed to snag his cell and press a button.

There was a high-pitched whine from the ear bud in the hand of the man holding Nate's arm and Hardison winced against the sound of the one still in his ear.

Marcone probably wasn't happy with his stolen earpiece; somehow Nate was okay with that.

Nate canted his head at Hardison and dropped his gaze to the fist he'd made at his side. Hardison shook his head with a hard smile and showed three fingers. Three buds down: Eliot and Parker were on their own, but they were still in touch.

He could only imagine the kind of hell the two could rain down without his calming influence.

"Why's he smiling for?" the man holding Hardison's arm asked his companion.

-o-

Eliot swore softly under his breath and looked up to see Flaco watching him curiously. The other man tilted his head back. "What game you runnin', man?"

Eliot ignored the question and asked one of his own. "Want to exchange a small favour for a big one?"

Flaco's eyes brightened. "How big?"

"Any big. All you got to do is watch out for Valdez if they let him out of solitary and I'm not around. The Italians might make a try, might be someone else. Keep him in one piece until release and you got a signed IOU from me. I'll even give you my number."

Flaco's eyes brightened again, this time he was amused. "Deal."

Eliot turned away and held his hand up to his ear. He had heard the feedback from the other ear buds, but he was pretty sure he was still getting something down his. Mostly it sounded like a hurricane. No point trying to keep subtle now. He said, "Parker, you still out there?"

"I'm -ere," she replied after a second; her voice cut in and out.

Eliot brought a hand up to his other ear. "Where are you?"

"I -d to get - ride on a -ruck, we- -ding int- the -ty."

Eliot glanced back over at Flaco; the man didn't look particularly worried by Eliot apparently conversing with the voices in his head. "You know how the others are?"

Her voice suddenly came in clearly. "Nate said go silent and get out, I went silent and got out. That's what he told me to do. You heard him."

She sounded almost upset and that twisted something up because Parker didn't sweat that kind of thing. None of them were supposed to sweat that kind of thing.

Eliot felt himself running all out of shut up and wait. "That's 'cause you've never been caught, right?"

"Right." She sounded more herself.

"Yeah, so come get me the hell out already."

Parker laughed.

-o-

Sol pushed Nate onto the couch next to Sophie and then stalked over to the window. Out of the corner of his eye, Nate watched Sophie as she checked her nails with studied disinterest. Shorthand: she was fine.

Hardison was pushed down next to them both; he crossed his arms and scowled at nothing in particular.

Nate leant forward to fix the throw cushions behind him and then fussed with his scarf - he made himself comfortable. When Marcone's incredulous attention had been on him for about a minute Nate asked, "Where's Donna Valdez?"

Marcone recovered himself enough for a careless smile. "As far as I know, she's staying with her parents. I'm not a monster, Mr Ford - I'm a businessman. I only needed her coat."

He looked almost fondly at Sophie. "Unfortunately for you, Masconi warned me about your … organisation. I'm glad he did or I might have missed you recognizing it, and I'd hate to think what could have happened. You really are quite enchanting, Ms Devereux."

"From anyone else, that would be quite a compliment," Sophie replied with a chilly expression.

Marcone held up a hand to his heart in mock hurt and turned to Hardison. "And Mr Hardison, I'm impressed. The FBI have been trying to get into those servers for three months, you did it in three minutes. Under other circumstances, I might have offered you a job."

Hardison muttered something inaudible and then fell sullenly quiet.

Nate held up his hands to regain Marcone's attention. "We get it, you know who we are and we're all very concerned. Can we skip to the part where you tell us what you want?"

Marcone's smile thinned. "Do you really think I'd be stupid enough not to have Donna Valdez followed? Jerome Valdez watched?"

"Or, we can just move right on to the villainous monologue," Nate sighed and settled back against the cushions again. "You mind if I nap? Long day."

Sophie hid a smile as the first fissure appeared in Marcone's composure; no one was better than Nate at driving people to distraction.

"If you want to skip the pleasantries, fine." Marcone snapped. "I was prepared to leave Valdez alone, but you've forced my hand. Jerome will be convinced that his full confession – or his silence - is in everyone's best interests. If Mr Spencer gets in the way, he'll be removed from the equation."

Nate's expression hardened but not before a flash of worry gave him away. "Valdez is in solitary, Marcone – you'll never get to him."

Marcone's smile widened. "Sorry, Mr Ford. I think you'll find you're mistaken."

Nate's eyes darted to Sophie and she shook her head in dismay. Hardison closed his own eyes and thought sad, sad thoughts about Fox cancelling everything he ever really loved. Anything not to laugh.

-o-

_Nate pulled his cell phone towards him and laboriously punched in the numbers, one by one. As he spoke, he watched the expressions around him morph from unsure to deeply horrified. "Hi, yes, I'd like to talk to the Special Agent in Charge of the Valdez trafficking case. Oh, okay. Well, sure, you could take a message. That's Valdez. Yes, spelled M-A-R-C-O-N- oh, she is? Sure, I can hold."_

__

"Nate … what are you doing?" Sophie's voice was hushed and even, the sort he expected she used with mental patients when the need arose.

"They need to know who their mole is, we need to get enough information for Jerome. Sounds like the makings of a deal to me."

"Maybe you could warn us next time, before you call the authorities?" Hardison's voice sounded calm and only slightly strangled by the effort. Parker was pale and Eliot looked murderous.

Nate shuffled around enough he couldn't actually see the man trying to kill him with his mind anymore.

He flipped through Hardison's report and was ready when the line crackled and a woman said, "Who is this?"

"Just a concerned citizen, Special Agent Falkirk."

"I see. A concerned citizen who rents a property downtown?"

"I don't think you'll find I do, however hard you look. Donna told us about the deal. But you know Jerome has nothing to give you, so the only reason you'd make it is to force Marcone's hand."

The silence at the end of the line was enough, although he was aware they would be delaying him while they tried a trace. He looked askance at Hardison and mouthed 'trace?' Hardison held up his hand, four fingers.

Four minutes didn't sound like much, Nate frowned. Hardison rolled his eyes and mouthed, 'hours'.

Nate nodded. "… Are you done trying to stall or do you want to waste a little more time? I have at least four hours of it, apparently."

When there was no response, Nate went on. "Marcone won't make a try for Valdez. He doesn't have to, he knows Valdez can't give you anything - if he bothers cleaning up at all, it'll be an anonymous hit in the yard with no trace back to him.

"Then you're left with a dead truck driver, nothing to pin to Marcone and bad dreams when you actually sleep. "

"So, what?" The voice at the other end finally answered. She sounded pained.

Nate let his voice become a little smug – cops saw through confidence but smugness gave them second thoughts. "So, what if he thought Valdez did know something?"

"We're not having this conversation."

"Of course not. I personally am currently watching TV and drinking a beer. I think it's MacGuyver. Or, wait, what's the one with the van?"

Interesting, he could actually hear teeth grinding.

"If Marcone made a serious play for Valdez and it gave us something, we might be able to arrange a reduced sentence."

"What would you do for Marcone's files?"

There was silence again, this time Nate gave the SAC some space. After thirty seconds she spoke again. "We're prepared to stand by our original offer – Jerome gets immunity and WITSEC for any substantive information he can give us on Marcone's organisation."

_"Nice not talking with you, Special Agent in Charge Falkirk." Nate hung up and looked pleased. For about two seconds. You know, before the shouting._

-o-

Agent Weaver ambled his way down the corridor. He was there to question the prisoner and that was all. Some time after he'd gone, it would be discovered Valdez had hung himself. Sad. Really sad. And with such a pretty wife, such young kids.

He'd had so much to live for.

Weaver smirked and raised a hand to the guards on duty as he stopped at the desk. One of them pushed a clipboard towards him and gestured disinterestedly for him to sign there, and initial there, there and there.

He signed; Marcone had assured him the paperwork and camera footage would be lost before Valdez's body was cold. "Just few questions, I won't be more than a couple of minutes."

The guards nodded.

He continued on down the hall and stopped outside Valdez's door. It opened under his touch.

A blonde head popped up at his shoulder from what he could have sworn was a deserted corridor. The woman smiled brightly, but in a way that was somehow not quite right. She gave a perky, "Hi!"

Weaver twisted her way and she jumped back; he was over-reached and off-balance when a much lower growl from within the cell said, "Come on in."

-o-

Parker pushed Weaver through the door, directly into Eliot's fist as it reached the apex of its swing. The man's jaw cracked; he folded and hit the floor with a dull thud. Valdez came out of the corner.

"I know him. I saw him at the drop offs sometimes." For the first time, Valdez's voice sounded half way hopeful.

There were more voices coming down the corridor now, Eliot spoke quickly. "Stay here, tell them he tried to attack you and you punched him out. The Agent in Charge knows what's happening. They might put you back in general population until all this gets figured out. If they do, stick with Flaco, he'll look after you."

Valdez's eyes widened. "Where are you going?"

"We're missing a party." Parker gestured sharply and Eliot darted after her.

-o-

Nate, Sophie and Hardison sat on the couch almost knee to knee. Sal stood watch by the door, making sure they went nowhere.

Malcone was in the next room with the door closed but it didn't matter, they could hear him screaming into his phone.

"Weaver's _what_? It was – no. No, I don't care. Deal with it. I don't care how just-"

The door slammed open and Marcone strode back into the room, considerably less composed than he had been when he'd left it.

"Problems?" Nate nodded sympathetically without waiting for an answer. "Never mind, your lawyer's word against his, I'm sure you can keep that in the courts for years. Of course, that changes if anyone finds your books…"

Marcone turned towards Hardison with dawning horror. Hardison waved.

"Sal, get the laptop," snarled Marcone.

-o-

When Parker had said it would be easy to break out, Eliot hadn't thought she'd meant it would be _that_ easy.

Honestly, he was a little embarrassed for LA County.

They'd found the car Sophie had hidden outside the prison for them; the bag from the trunk was a comforting weight on Eliot's shoulder. Now they stood in the shadows beyond the gate to Marcone's property, out of range of the cameras.

"Feds will be here soon," Parker said.

"Yeah." Eliot turned his head to look at her. "Want to go get them out?"

"I'll take the back." Her smile grew wide and excited; Eliot didn't feel even a little bit sorry for whoever got in her way.

"I'll take the front. See you someplace in the middle." He took the few steps back he needed to get a run up to go over the wall; by the time he looked around she was already gone.

He made it half way across the grounds before lights flooded the front and the door was thrown open. Men spilled out; Eliot closed his eyes and threw a flash bang in front of him. He listened with intense happiness to the sounds of pain that followed.

When the vivid white stopped playing across his eyelids, he risked opening his eyes.

Three or four of Marcone's men were on the ground and out of the equation for the moment. Another three were standing and their guns waved wildly as they tried to make sense of the sharp lights and swimming shadows that their vision now consisted of.

Eliot put them down one by one and jogged towards the door. He approached low and at an angle, but no one was waiting for him in the hall. Kind of a disappointment.

He stopped and listened; there were raised voices somewhere above. He was pretty sure he recognised the sound of Sophie tearing someone a new one.

He jogged up the stairs and then picked his way over a couple of unconscious bodies that had been unfortunate enough not to see Parker before she saw them.

Carefully, he looked through the doorway into what seemed to be a lounge. Nate, Hardison and Sophie stood at the far end; Marcone and he guessed Marcone's lieutenant stood in the middle. Marcone had a gun on Sophie.

Eliot almost laughed because, seriously?

"What did you do?" Marcone screamed, the gun shaking for emphasis. Sophie didn't even twitch.

"I'm behind you." Parker's voice was a whisper in Eliot's ear and then he felt her moving closer. She took position on the other side of the door, she hadn't lost the happy smile.

Sophie moved a little, pulling Marcone and Sal around and putting their backs to Eliot and Parker. Nate and Hardison were studiously not looking at the door, making sure they didn't give anything away.

When Eliot and Parker rose behind their targets, Sophie laughed.

Marcone opened his mouth but that was as far as he got; Eliot plucked the gun from his hand and spun him into Sal. A shot went up into the ceiling as Sal went down; he didn't have time for another. Parker stood on his wrist and ground down with the same bright smile.

Eliot dropped fast to one knee and punched down, putting Sal out of his misery. When he stood again, Nate was looking at him and Parker with an expression Eliot couldn't decipher. Probably checking for prison ink or something.

Nate coughed and stepped carefully over the supine bodies. "What happened?"

"Some guy made a play for Valdez while he was in solitary. We left right as your Agent in Charge was coming in. Guess they had a lot to talk about."

Hardison walked over to their pile of cell phones and threw Sophie and Nate theirs before studying his. He pushed a couple of buttons and then grinned. "Marcone tried to access his files."

"You can get the address?" Off Hardison's nod Nate continued, "Send it to the Feds when you do, but don't go in there. We don't want him pleading tampering."

Hardison looked pained, but complied.

At the edges of their hearing sirens began to wail. "Well, I think that's our cue," Sophie said and tucked her cell phone away.

-o-

The offices were dark and cold when they finally trailed in, but dawn was beginning to lighten the sky outside. Sophie undimmed the lights for the kitchenette and flicked the switch to put the kettle on. She had been a hundred different people and from a hundred different places, but she just couldn't shake the native feeling everything would be better for a nice cup of tea.

Parker had followed her in and now she trailed after her from the sink to the fridge to the tea jar, a shadow at her side. She didn't say anything until Sophie began to pour the water into the teapot. "You thought I'd gone. Before. When I stabbed that man with the fork."

Sophie routed through the drawer until she found the tea strainer. "But you hadn't. We knew you'd come back, Parker." She poured the tea carefully into cups and added the milk, her version of a calming tea ceremony.

When she was done she patted the other woman's arm and put a cup of tea in her hand. Parker stared quizzically at it, but her fingers tightened and she drew it close as if Sophie might change her mind.

Sophie put the rest of the cups on a tray and took them into the media room; Parker drifted after her.

Hardison was flicking though the televisions, watching coverage of the FBI bust over three stations. He grinned up at her as she put his tea on the table by his elbow. "Now that's good television. And what is this?"

"Earl Gray, you'll like it. It's not carbonated, it's meant to be that way."

Hardison peered at the pale tea. "Smells a little freaky."

Sophie smiled. "I put sugar in it."

Hardison picked it up with significantly more enthusiasm. "Nah, that's cool, I'm all about the new."

Eliot took his cup with a nod of thanks as he came out of his office, showered and changed. He nudged Hardison's chair as he passed him. "You send the files or whatever?"

Hardison rolled his eyes and licked off the tea that had spilled onto his hand. "_Yeah_, I sent the files or whatever. _And_ Sheridan is out of the system. All that while you was fixing your hair. And don't go thinking I've forgotten that elbow, I'm biding my time is what I'm doing."

"_Biding_?" Eliot stared at him.

"Biding." Hardison nodded with an injured expression; it was helped quite a lot by the bruise spreading across his cheekbone.

Eliot nudged his chair more carefully this time as he dropped into his own. "Thanks."

Hardison blinked.

"We didn't finish Prison Break. I like it," Parker said a little too loudly.

"You spent most of the time explaining how the first season could have been an instructive five minute infomercial," Hardison pointed out.

"It could have." Parker smiled. "I still like it. Put it on."

Eliot's eyes narrowed. "Don't even."

"Later," Hardison mouthed over his head. Parker beamed.

Nate walked through the door to the media room and pulled up sharply as Sophie materialised in front of him with a cup held at eye level. When it didn't prove itself to be some kind of weird hallucination, he reached up and took it. "Isn't this from your stash? The one Eliot isn't allowed near on pain of pain?"

She shrugged.

He looked at the bar and then down at the tea. His lips pursed and he took his seat without a word.

Sophie smiled.

They sat watching the breakfast news until Eliot's cell rang. Eliot checked the number and groaned quietly. Hardison glanced at Nate and muted the television.

Eliot shook himself out of anticipating out what the hell he was going to be asked for, put the cell on the table and set it to speakerphone. "Yeah, Flaco?"

The voice at the other end crackled on a bad line, "I'm calling in that favour. Valdez, he told me what you did for him..."

Nate looked at the cell phone. He could say nothing; Eliot had been careful to put himself and himself only in Flaco's debt; he could take on the job and he'd never say anything about it. The others would understand.

Maybe that would be the worst thing.

Nate pushed his tea to the side and leaned forward. "How can we help you?"


End file.
